


Calming Effect

by venis_envy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Comfort Sex, Established Relationship, Held Down, M/M, Post 3a, Praise Kink, Schmoop, Sexual Content, because that's how i roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venis_envy/pseuds/venis_envy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knows he's too much sometimes. He doesn't have to be told. He feels it...an energy that's too big for his body, a constant buzz in his veins that makes it feel as if he's too much for even his own skin to contain. Some days, he doesn't know quite how to handle it. But Derek does. Derek always knows what Stiles needs.</p>
<p>Based on a prompt smoosh from two separate kinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calming Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sapphirescribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe/gifts), [donnersun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnersun/gifts), [Carrottop81690](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrottop81690/gifts).



> So, I think [vampireisthenewblack](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vampireisthenewblack/pseuds/vampireisthenewblack) and I are having a bit of a porn-off. We decided to do NaNo a little differently this year, and just write as much fic as we possibly can in the hopes of reaching our 50k November word goal. We've each been finding prompts and writing with mostly complete literary abandon (vomming words into docs, then cleaning them up around the edges).   
> This is a result of that. We've each been inadvertently posting porny fic about every other day. It feels like we've put our tap shoes on and thrown down the gauntlet (I'm so bad at mixing metaphors). Anyway, here's this, and if you're not yet reading the wonderful things vamp writes, I suggest you wait no longer. 
> 
> This one is my interpretation of a couple different prompts. One from [sapphirescribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe/pseuds/sapphirescribe) in which she expressed interest in seeing a flailing Stiles with too much excess energy being pinned down by Derek, held from his legs to his arms and fucked slowly. The other was a [tumblr prompt](http://tastyapples.tumblr.com/post/66828612714/ursa-major-kedreeva-imagineyourotp-imagine-person-a) posted by [donnerson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/donnersun/pseuds/donnersun) and passed off to me by carrottop81690, in which Stiles has something of a praise kink, doesn't always feel like he fits or belongs, but really gets off on Derek telling him otherwise. I hope I've done them justice. If you enjoy, be sure to click that little heart at the bottom there. Hearts make me happy.

It hasn't always been this way. It started out with a teasing glance, a joking snipe about Derek giving Stiles something better to do with his restless hands. Stiles is pretty sure Derek hadn't expected him to take the offer seriously, but when he lingered around that night, after everyone else had left, Derek didn't turn him away.

It’s so much more than that now. More than Derek just giving Stiles ways to occupy his time or space.

Stiles needed it. He needs...

Sometimes he isn't quite sure what he needs. But Derek knows.

There are days Stiles feels like even the smallest decisions are too much for him to make. Like he's so fucking lost inside his own head that choosing between blueberry or strawberry flavored Pop-Tarts on his way out the door in the morning is just too much. He goes without breakfast those days, doesn't even notice until he's halfway through the school day and his stomach is rumbling, his thoughts unfocused.

He picks an apple for lunch, string cheese, and whatever strange meat the school is offering because he needs the protein, even if it isn't much.

Stiles doesn't always feel like a terrible person. He's got an unconventional life, with his best friend being a werewolf and all, and things could certainly be worse. He's never had to kill anyone. He's wanted to, but Stiles' moral compass has always managed to direct him away from those thoughts, even with Gerard's fist in his face.

But sometimes, when he really thinks about it, Stiles doesn't exactly feel like a great person, either. 

As far back as he can remember, he's been a burden. A burden to the school system, a burden to his parents, his father, even to his best friend.

Stiles tries not to think about the fact that it's his fault Scott is a werewolf; that Scott could have died that night, which Stiles most certainly would've been to blame for. He's always finding new and creative ways to get into trouble, dragging Scott along for the ride, dragging Scott down with him.

He tries not to think of all the grief he's caused his father over the years or all the IEP meetings with the school board in which his dad has to hear all about Stiles' lack of behavioral progress despite his outstanding grades.

He knows he's too much sometimes. He doesn't have to be told. Stiles feels it, too. An energy that's too big for his body, a constant buzz in his veins that makes it feel as if he's too much for even his own skin to contain.

No, he isn't emo or depressed, self-deprecating or starved for attention. Stiles is just... aware. Sometimes _too_ aware.

Derek has a particular way of calming Stiles' frayed nerves and overactive mind. He has no problem keeping up with Stiles—physically, of course, but also intellectually.

Derek picks Stiles up from school on the days Scott works at the clinic. He takes him to get something to eat, usually at the diner on the corner, just down the street from his apartment. He lectures Stiles about the importance of a healthy diet, making sure he gets breakfast before school, and Stiles doesn't bother telling him that Pop-Tarts are one of the two most unhealthy convenience foods a person can consume. He just listens, promises to eat some toast the next morning. Derek is marginally satisfied with that, even though he insists Stiles needs more protein to start his day— eggs, meat, even yogurt; not empty carbs that will simply burn into sugar as the morning ticks by.

He's right, and Stiles finds it oddly endearing that he cares so much, even if he shows it in weirdly parental ways sometimes.

Often, they spend the afternoons wrapped around each other in Derek's bed, tangled in the sheets as Derek fucks all of the excess energy out of Stiles, drains him of every last bit of it until Stiles is a boneless wreck of satisfaction.

Today, though, Stiles has had a particularly horrible afternoon. He skips lacrosse practice— even though he knows he shouldn't—and shows up at Derek's place practically vibrating with tension from the day's events.

Derek doesn't have to ask him what happened, but he usually does.

Things have been... different lately. With the strange love triangle between Scott, Allison, and Isaac. With the odd darkness around their hearts that Deaton had warned them about.

It isn't Stiles' fault, but sometimes he feels like they all blame him anyway. Like they know he could have stopped it, could've come up with a better solution than the one they resorted to. Or maybe it's just all the tension between Scott and Isaac that Stiles catches like static in the air, holds onto without even trying until it's buzzing under his skin, itching to get out.

"Make it stop," he says, lips pressed to Derek's before Derek has even had a chance to step out of the doorway and let Stiles in. "Just. Make it stop." He knows Derek will. It's only one of the many reasons he loves him so fucking much.

Derek always makes it go away.

He shushes Stiles, spins them around to shut the door without breaking contact, and presses Stiles' back against the wall.

Derek doesn't ask Stiles what he needs, which is a good thing considering it was another Pop-Tartless morning due to inner conflict and indecision. He just backs Stiles down the hall to his bedroom, not breaking contact.

Derek slips his fingers under the waistband of Stiles' jeans, tugs him a little bit closer as he kisses him.

Stiles doesn't want to think. Not today. He just wants to _feel_ , and so he trains all of his focus on the slide of Derek's tongue against his own, the soft caress of Derek's fingers on his hips as he pushes Stiles' pants down.

Derek's fingers curl around the back of Stiles' thigh, urging his leg up so that Stiles can step out of his clothes without breaking the kiss; first one, and then the other before Derek is tugging Stiles' shirt off, too.

"On your stomach," Derek says, dragging his fingertips down Stiles' arms slowly, wrapping his hands around Stiles' wrists. He kisses him again softly before leading him over to the bed.

Stiles usually loves to watch Derek undress, take in every hard line and angle of Derek's body, but he doesn't bother this time. He climbs up into the bed, lies down with the crook of his arm pillowing his face, and he waits, trembling with anticipation.

Derek takes his time moving up the bed over him, dropping feather-light kisses and whispered touches along the way, from Stiles' heels all the way up to his shoulders.

Stiles shakes with pent up energy and desire, like his body doesn't know what to do with it all. But Derek does.

He pushes Stiles' legs together and the mattress dips under his weight as he shifts to settle himself on the backs of Stiles' thighs.

Derek presses into Stiles, opens him up with two slick fingers and careful rolls of his wrist, his free hand flat between Stiles' shoulder blades. Stiles' fingers twitch, reaching out but finding only empty sheet to grasp. Stiles can feel Derek’s dick hard against his thigh, already leaking and leaving a slick trail as Derek moves behind him. He grips Stiles’ ass with one hand, spreads him open as his other works to massage Stiles from the inside, slick and hot, but Stiles needs more.

“Derek,” he whimpers into the crook of his arm.

Derek's fingers curl and twist inside him, but then he’s pulling them out, leaving Stiles empty.

Derek leans forward, pushes into him and Stiles can feel some of the tension leaving him with a shaky breath as Derek presses his chest to Stiles’ back.

It’s perfect. It’s exactly what Stiles needs: the satisfying stretch when Derek finally sinks into him, the way Derek is so close, pressing into Stiles from this angle. They’re fit too tightly together for Derek to thrust like this, but he’s buried deep, just how Stiles needs him, dragging against that spot inside that blinds Stiles with pleasure, makes him whine.

His breath is warm against the shell of Stiles’ ear. “You’re so fucking perfect, Stiles. So amazing. I hope you know that.”

Stiles doesn’t know—not really—but he loves hearing it from Derek. The honesty and sincerity in Derek’s tone causes something in Stiles’ chest to uncoil, spreads a warmth all the way out into his limbs.

Derek brackets Stiles’ knees with his own, the tops of his feet resting on Stiles’ calves, and it feels like he’s everywhere, covering Stiles completely, grounding him the way only _he_ can do. And, god, yes, Derek always knows exactly what Stiles needs, how he needs it, even if Stiles doesn’t always know himself.

“You’re so good, Stiles,” Derek says, kissing the jut of Stiles’ shoulder blade, mouthing at the nape of his neck. “So good for me. So perfect.”

Stiles feels a flush rising to the surface of his skin, painting the pale expanse with a rosy hue. He wonders if Derek can feel it, the heat of it against his skin.

Derek rolls into him, smooth and easy, and achingly slow. He slides his hands over Stiles’ shoulders, up his arms, thumb gliding over the pulse point at Stiles’ wrist before he wraps his fingers around them and pins them to the bed above Stiles’ head. Stiles flexes, testing Derek's hold on him, and then arches up as much as he can to take Derek in even deeper.

Like this, with Derek pressing him down everywhere, heavy and solid, Stiles has nothing to think about or focus on but the reassuring presence of Derek on him, around him, _in_ him.

He can feel the swell of Derek’s cock inside him, slick with lube but no less perfect, just the right amount of friction and pressure.

Derek uses his hips to lever himself forward, to fuck Stiles into the bed beneath him. Stiles can feel the pool of precome on the sheets under him, feel the head of his dick dragging through it, slick and warm with every roll of Derek’s hips. He cries out with the pleasure of it, moans into the feathery-soft pillow he’s got his cheek against.

Derek’s grip on Stiles’ wrist slackens and he drags his fingertips down Stiles’ arm again.

he slides his parted lips up the side of Stiles’ neck, his tongue flicking against Stiles’ earlobe before he speaks again.

“Every noise you make, every word out of your beautiful mouth…” The angle is awkward, but Derek presses his fingers to Stiles’ jaw, tilting his face just enough for their mouths to meet. He kisses Stiles sweetly before continuing. “I want it all. Everything.”

He moves his lips across Stiles’ cheek, kisses his temple and Stiles can hear the longing in the pitch of Derek’s breath as he breathes in the scent of sweat-damp hair.

“God, Stiles, you’re so good to me, so good _for_ me. Don’t ever think I don’t need you.”

Stiles doesn’t even care if Derek is the only one who will ever need him. It’s all he wants, just to feel like he belongs, like he isn’t in the way.

Derek kisses his neck, opens his mouth against the hammering pulse below his ear and Stiles arches up into every single touch, every roll of Derek's hips.

He loves this so fucking much; Derek blanketing Stiles’ body with his own, holding him down, grounding him. Derek taking Stiles apart, making him tremble with need, but at the same time, keeping him from shaking out of his skin—out of his _mind_.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me,”  Derek says, and the admission snaps and tugs at Stiles’ heart. “To _all_ of us.”

Derek drags his hand back down Stiles’ arm, from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder blade, touching him everywhere, buried deep inside Stiles, filling him up, stretching him out, and _fuck_ , Stiles loves it.

He cants his hips up and back as much as he can with Derek’s weight pressing down on him. It drags Derek even deeper, makes him choke on a moan against Stiles’ skin, his breath ruffling the hair at the back of Stiles’ neck.

“You’re so strong, fearless,” Derek says. “So fucking perfect.”

Stiles shifts his hips, fucks into the sheets beneath him, his aching cock trapped between soft cotton and the sweaty skin of his own belly.

Derek sucks a mark into Stiles’ shoulder, rocks into him as deep as he can go and circles his hips, scraping against every nerve in Stiles’ body, and Stiles can feel him coming, pulsing hot inside him.

It makes Stiles frantic for a moment, on the verge of panic because he doesn’t want it to be over yet, isn’t ready to be cold and drifting.

“More,” Stiles groans, broken and wanting.  “Derek—” He doesn’t even really know what he’s asking for, but Derek seems to understand. He always does.

Stiles feels frayed, desperate, and unfocused, but Derek keeps rocking into him, whispering praise into his skin, kissing him and touching him until Stiles feels calm again.

Only Derek can do that. Only Derek has that effect on him, the ability to make Stiles feel in control, contained, wanted and loved even when he isn’t doing anything at all but taking.

Derek mouths at the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, hums against his skin and tells him again how good he is, how important Stiles is to everyone, how much he loves him. Stiles can feel it building at the base of his spine, tugging low and hot in his stomach, before his release comes spurting out against the bed, pulsing hard and achingly good with every beat of his heart.

Derek doesn’t move off of him, even when Stiles has caught his breath and is feeling significantly better about his day. He just stays there, holding Stiles down, the rise and fall of his chest against Stiles’ back somehow working to soothe him even further. It comforts him to know that, no matter what he needs, Derek will always give it to him, and even if Stiles can’t help but sometimes question his place in all the madness that surrounds them, Derek never lies to him.

Eventually, Derek rolls them into a more comfortable position, tucked up against Stiles, arms wrapped around him and his dick still inside. They fall asleep like that, sticky and sated and perfectly calm.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Donnersun, I tried. I left off the "good boy" part from the prompt because it felt pretty skeevy in this context. Sorry <3


End file.
